


The Leash

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [14]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Approximately nine and a half years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Leash

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Well, Valentine's day is here! It was so hard to find any time at all to write, but I thought that at least on this day, I just had to, because at least one day a year should be dedicated to love :)
> 
> My love goes to all of you folks supporting me, without you I would hardly bother. Happy V day!
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

“… and it’s gonna be great!”

“Yeah, I… I really don’t think I would be able to come…”

“It’s a once in a lifetime type of a thing! You know they only come to Australia maybe once a year!”

“That’s hardly a lifetime, Jesse, and it’s just that…”

“What?”

His aquamarine eyes are blazing so angrily that Andy has to look down and shake his head:

“Well, I just… I don’t think your brother would want me to go…”

“You don’t even have to stay out all night, you can come for a few hours…”

“It’s not that… it’s just that it’s on a Saturday… If it were on a Friday, or on a weeknight, maybe I could, but you know how Fergus is really….”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, he can spare you for one night, can he not?!”

“I…” – Andy winces, then shakes his head, still looking down.

“It’s not like he owns you, goddamn, Andy, you really shouldn’t have to ask his permission…”

“I’m not… it’s not like that at all, it’s just…” – He winces again, shuffles his feet, then checks his phone, - “I gotta go.”

“And where?” – Jesse knows, of course, but when he doesn’t get his way, his volatile temper can hardly be arrested.

“Home” – Andy replies quietly and picks up his backpack, - “I’ll see ya” – he turns around and starts walking.

“He’s really got you on a leash, you know! You’re like a dog on a leash, mate!... That’s pathetic!!” – He hears Jesse scream after him, shrill turning to hiss as he repeats, muttering, - “…fucking pathetic!”

 

He walks alongside the ragged line where the blue ocean licks the tan earth and his bare feet sink softly into moist pliable sand. Cool breeze hits him in the face and plays in his hair. It’s unusually cool for a spring day, cold even, he could say – that is, if he noticed, but he was walking oblivious with eyes barely blinking, so much so that they were watering from the wind. 

If it really was water…

 

He’s got you on a leash. 

Yeah, in a way. On most days after work, Andy has plenty of time to hang out with whoever, but he normally has to leave about nine – unless Fergus texts him. In that case, Andy would have to leave earlier. Fergus would usually text him about an hour before his ETA – estimated time of arrival – and Andy would be expected to grab his stuff and set on his way home. If he planned to walk to their house, he would have to leave almost immediately – if he chose to take the tram, he had an extra twenty minutes. So yes, in that way, he really does have to constantly follow Fergus around…

And yeah, once we’re on that subject, the whole thing did begin in a more of a “I should be home in about an hour, would you mind heating up some food/picking up some take out/setting the kettle/opening/closing the windows?” manner. That’s how it started. Now, Andy only gets an “omw” which means that Fergus had just put his Audi in drive and pulled out of his company’s parking lot. Very cute.

 

He gets home before he notices it and mechanically goes about setting the table. It’s pretty amazing just how much he is used to the routine. A couple things change here and there – maybe he forgot to wash out the coffee cups in the mornings, or needed to take the food out of the freezer, or throw together some fresh salad, but basically, that’s how things go. Then, he usually just sits in the kitchen or in the livingroom, with a telly or a book or his laptop and – waits for Fergus. 

Which is precisely what he is doing now. 

After almost half-an-hour of waiting, Andy puts down the newspaper, frowns, and goes to reheat the soup. It’s not like Fergus to take so long, but then it’s also not unlike Fergus not to warn him. He does warn him most of the time if he’s stuck in a jam for a long time, but he generally dislikes violating traffic laws, so he hardly contacts anyone whilst he’s driving. And also – this Andy knows by experience – Fergus oftentimes uses his long drive home to blow off some steam. From what Andy understands of Fergus’ job, it’s a rather indispensable activity. 

Just as Andy is about to pick up the paper again, Fergus walks through the front door. Andy doesn’t get up off the taburette, but he hardly has to – Fergus drops his briefcase somewhere in the hall, marches right into the kitchen, slides his hand over the back of Andy’s neck, squeezes his shoulder and presses a kiss into his temple.

“Oh my God…” – that’s as much of a greeting as Andy gets because before he even has time to turn around, Fergus is already gone into the bedroom to shrug off his suit jacket, then into the washroom, then – finally – to actually - really - properly look at Andy in the kitchen.

Which he does, already beginning to shove a piece of bread into his mouth, as he continues his thought:

“…I am so hungry” – He manages with his mouth half-full. He didn’t bother to change this time around; and his black hair looks exquisitely bold matching his black tie and contrasting with his crispy white shirt – Andy’s work, too – he knows exactly how to wash them using his mother’s recommendation of adding a sprinkle of lemon juice into the washload – the ocean air provides plenty of salt to dry them in the Newcastle sun to that fresh, impeccable finish, - “How was it?”

How was what? The manner of that question, Andy suddenly realises, is not so much open-ended as evidence of the fact that Fergus has probably no idea what Andy had going on that day – which, granted, was not that much – or if he ever cared.

“Fine” – Andy responds without affront, but does not even pick up his own fork.

Fergus doesn’t give that remark a second thought and proceeds to devour the soup:

“Do we have any more of that…”

“Yeah” – Andy pulls out of the microwave a plate of yesterday’s leftovers which he sets in front of Fergus, taking his empty soup bowl and depositing it in the sink. 

“My brother working…?” – Fergus poses an incomplete question, starting on the chicken.

“He was” – Andy nods, quietly sitting down in front of him at their two-person kitchen table.

“What’s he saying?”

Well, that’s an odd question if you think about it. Jesse is Fergus’ brother and Andy’s friend. Surely, Fergus could spare a moment to call him and ask him how he is doing. 

“Not much” – Andy could, of course, tell Fergus that one of Jesse’s favourite bands is coming to town in a month, and that Jesse really would like it if all of them went to see it together (not necessarily Fergus, of course, because even Jesse does not expect his brother to join him in such a frivolous activity, but Andy, and Nathan, and Nick, and Scotty, and Luke, and their whole ole crowd of friends)… but he doesn’t, because he knows it’s useless. It’s not that Fergus wouldn’t *allow* him to go, it’s just…

“Hm” – Fergus grunts, pushes away his plate, and takes a chug of his decaf. He is so addicted to coffee, that sometimes Andy thinks that he’s forgotten that any other drinks exist at all – his glass of water is standing on the table untouched, - “My God, is it really *that* late?” He takes a glance at his watch, makes big eyes, picks up his mug and walks off into the livingroom.

Just. Like. That.

And Andy just looks at the table. Slowly, he picks up Fergus’ plate and glass and places them in the sink. Puts away the container with the leftovers. Puts away the loaf of bread. Puts away his own dishes which he hasn’t even touched. Rinses out the coffee pot. Sweeps the crumbs off the table. Starts on rinsing Fergus’ dishes, when he hears him call out from the livingroom:

“You coming? It’s started.”

 

Just. Like. That.

 

 

He’s got you on a leash. 

He takes you for granted. 

He uses you. 

You’re his bitch.

Yep, even that. He’s heard all that before. All of them had, at some point or another, said something of the like, Nate, Nick, Jesse, Scotty… not his mother, though, for what it’s worth. Because if she did, well then maybe…

But what then, really? The thing is, he never cared to defend neither himself nor Fergus. Even in his thoughts – ‘cause, he knows. Especially, that first one, the type of observational insult he hears most often - he is practically sure – well, it is true. Fergus does have him on a leash. Or wrapped around his finger. Or whipped. Or whatever. Oh yeah. That one is patently obvious. 

 

Andy doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ever point it out to him when Fergus doesn’t thank him for dinner. When he doesn’t quite notice it if Andy takes care of this or that errand for him of his own accord. So… maybe he does take him for granted. Maybe that part of it is true as well.

So, Andy leaves the dishes for later, washes off his hands and proceeds to join Fergus in the livingroom. Fergus is watching some kind of a show on the telly and Andy quietly lays down and folds himself to fit into the remaining space on their three-seater couch, becoming ever so cat-like as he places his head onto Fergus’ lap and Fergus settles his hand on Andy’s shoulder. 

But Andy doesn’t watch the show. He thinks. He thinks that they’ve come so far to end up like this with most nights resulting in only about a couple hours of time spent together in front of the telly, because Fergus is way too tired or riled up to chat and yeah, he keeps saying it all is just for now, but really, but really, if the lads are correct, if you take their love out of the equation, Fergus does nothing but use him, and Andy is really his bitch.

And he’s got him on a leash. He sure does. 

Because Andy can’t and never could even fathom leaving him. He is so in love with him, it’s beyond written language. He’s permanently captivated by his piercing black eyes, enchanted with his soft gentle smile, his shiny black hair, but more than anything with his unwavering loyalty, his strength of character, his perseverance, his endurance of his long grueling workdays, his brilliant memory that keeps all his responsibilities in the front of his brain better than any calendar would, the way he can stand up for himself and confront people in a polite but stern manner – a trait that Andy had witnessed blossom in him sometime during college - something Andy’s credited himself for, a bit – but more than anything, the depth of his love. And that’s something Andy has never doubted, even on days when it was all but impossible to see. Because for someone to be on a leash, someone else has to hold it.

 

 

Andy turns over onto his back and looks up at Fergus. The way his vacant eyes are staring right through the telly, he can immediately tell, that Fergus is not watching it.

“You’re not paying attention” – Andy states simply.

“What?” – Fergus jerks his hand up to his face, laughs and rubs his eyes, then looks down at Andy, - “Sorry, I must have spaced out.”

“No, you weren’t watching it at all, Fergs. Why do we even bother?”

“I… I thought you liked it?” – He looks genuinely confused, eyeing Andy’s face, - “The programme?”

“Well, considering I can hardly even see the screen from this angle…”

Fergus blinks, frowns, then offers:

“Then… why are we watching it?”

“That’s what *I* asked. I thought you liked it.”

“Who, me? No… No, I thought you and your Mum liked it…. I thought I heard her say…”

“Yeah” – Andy laughs, mildly amused, - “Yeah, my Mum does like it, and I have watched it with her a few times, it’s an old show, but I… really kind of don’t care for it, actually…”

“Well, why didn’t you…?” – Fergus laughs too and places his hand gently onto Andy’s chest. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with those deep brown eyes and Andy smiles, - “So what were you doing just now?”

“Uhm…” – Andy winces and blinks, because he really can’t just tell him that he was mentally considering the merits of Jesse’s argument about Fergus having him on a leash, but luckily Fergus jolts a bit and makes a sharp gesture with his hand:

“Almost forgot to tell you – I put all the copies of your liability papers into your surf bag. In a rubber folder. So they don’t get wet. Hope you don’t mind they are double-sided? Some idiot locked the printer settings and I couldn’t break in.”

“Nobody cares” – Andy nods, - “Were you able to talk the bank out of charging me the late payment fee?”

“Yeah! But it was like pulling teeth! I managed to get the damn thing paid off and cancelled. You need to be more careful about opening rewards cards like that…”

“I have no idea how the hell that even happened! I thought they were just offering a discount.”

“Yeah, well… When they ask you to sign stuff and show your ID - that should be a red flag.”

“I’m not good at reading the fine print.”

“I know.”

Andy looks at him for any hint of displeasure but doesn’t find any. Fergus knows that forms, formalities, paperwork and bureaucracy simply don’t exist in Andy’s sunshine salt air world, and is used to dealing with it. He deals with it all the time.

“What were you thinking about just now?” – Andy wonders still looking up at him, as his head rests on Fergus’ lap.

“Your mother, actually” – Fergus runs his hand through his hair, - “Or rather, how I’m going to fit it into my schedule to drive her to Sydney this Saturday.”

“To Sydney?” – Andy even lifts up his head, - “Why?”

“She needs to sign some papers with your father. For the house. The house will be in your mother’s name only and it will go to you when… anyway, he has no objections, apparently, and he will be in Sydney this weekend, so if we want to avoid having to hike out to Adelaide, we might as well deal with it now.”

Andy blinks, opens and closes his mouth:

“I had no idea… How… Why are you…?”

“Well. She called me about a month ago and told me that your Dad wants to transfer the house. I’m not a lawyer, of course, but I’ve looked into that. It’s not that big of a deal, just a few papers, but she wanted to make sure that we do it right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Here, Fergus blinks, then gestures with his hands:

“I thought you knew.”

“But we’ve never… like… discussed it.”

“Yeah, Andy” – Fergus laughs out, - “When have you ever cared about stuff like that? I mean it’s not like you didn’t know your Dad has been wanting to transfer the house for awhile so it would in any case go to you and not to his… wife, and it’s not like you could or would want to stop him… I mean” – He offers, - “Well, do you want to see the papers?”

“What papers?”

“For the house.”

“You have them with you?”

“Yeah. I stopped by your Mum’s just before I came here. I had to drop off her insurance claim stuff and she gave them to me.”

“What?” – Andy sits up and looks at him.

“What?” – Fergus blinks back at him.

“You stopped by my Mum’s?”

“Yeah, that’s why I was a bit late… I didn’t think it would take long, but I guess…. Oh sh…..” – Fergus slaps himself on the forehead, - “That apricot jelly is still in my briefcase…ugh… anyway, yeah – I stopped to drop off her insurance claim docs – remember, from the time she had to get tested for Hep after that needle prick at her work? Well, we went over that, and then she gave me the papers. The house papers” – He clarifies, eyeing Andy’s face. 

“Erm” – Andy says, looking at him.

“What?”

What? Just that, he supposes. Just that. 

“Why do *you* have to drive her to Sydney?”

“Because *you* have to work!” – Fergus almost laughs out, genuinely amused, - “Andy, your work schedule for the next two weeks is on the Frigidair, I have it all memorised! Anyway, I figured, it's all good, I’ll take her in the morning, run a couple of errands for Leno and work on the new banner at a coffee shop while she catches up with her friend she’s been wanting to see, you know, the one from that Polish deli? And then we’ll have lunch, take a bit of a walk through the town and drive home! We’ll be back in time for you to get off work and…”

“Why can’t my Mum drive herself?”

Fergus looks puzzled:

“I… suppose that she could, but I guess she just assumed that I would go with?”

Andy just looks at him, mouth open, blue-grey eyes intent and blinking.

So…

So Fergus has him on a leash, and yet his own mother just assumes that Fergus would file her insurance claim papers for her, research the legalities of the house transfer for her, and just like that, holds it for a given that Fergus would take an afternoon out of his tightly packed schedule to drive her to Sydney? 

 

And the thing is, she’s figured that one quite right, she did. 

Fergus would.

 

Andy’s by no means an idiot. He’s a bright well-rounded guy, with an especially keen mind for science, good with his hands, generally helpful and thoughtful. But he’s very laid-back, somewhat zany and quite forgetful. Fergus on the other hand, is a real type A. He will do what he’s asked to not only thoroughly and expediously but also go an extra mile to figure out any potential issues that could arise and – to provide and account for them. So Andy is hardly surprised that his mother had chosen Fergus over her own son for advice on her legal shenanigans. There’s barely anything in this world that Fergus cannot figure out or would refuse to do. In fact, it’s a well-known fact that Fergus can be used to print stuff, copy stuff, fill out stuff, pay off stuff, get annoying people off one’s back and generally, resolve stuff. Fergus is good at that. It is in fact, easier to send him items to be printed at his work than to take them on a USB drive to the nearest copy centre. Well, one should say, the whole thing started a bit more like “Hey, could you please print/copy/proof-read/double check/fill out/figure out these forms/files/itineraries for me/my mother/my boss/your brother?” but evolved into “pls print!” or “see attachd… WTF???” Nice, isn’t it?

And Fergus just does it. He doesn’t ask why he has to deal with it on top of his work – and – during his work hours, and doesn’t expect to be thanked for it. He takes it as a given and does it. His whole family always counts on him and he never fails. His whole family just assumes that he will agree and will do it – and he is yet to let anyone down. So you could say, his whole family uses him and takes him for granted. Well, they probably do.

And Andy is, certainly, the closest family member he’s got. 

So about that leash…

 

 

Andy studies his lover’s face, the way dim yellow tabletop lamp light gives his skin a warm peachy hue and suddenly notices, as Fergus smiles gently at him, tiny wrinkles that form at the corners of his eyes. “My God, but he’s still so young…’ – Andy thinks as he reaches his hand out thoughtlessly and mechanically to Fergus’ face as if to try to smooth out the unwelcome wrinkles, but slides the backs of his fingers down his cheek instead and Fergus catches them with his hand and kisses them. And he doesn’t really know what Andy’s been thinking about him that night - his failure to text a warning when he’s going to be late, him leaving dirty dishes without a word, or him stopping at his mother’s house after a long day at work, to deal with her insurance claim and to plan taking her to Sydney, and least of all, of the fact that he would sit unseeing in front of the telly just because he thinks that his lover enjoys watching the show – because he just pulls Andy in, the way he usually does, taking the lead and Andy following, and kisses him with so much feeling that Andy immediately sees the way things really are, as if a veil were suddenly lifted, though in reality, of course, he can see nothing but an indigo blanket of stars, and feel a whirlwind of emotion, which are the only things present whenever Fergus kisses him like that.

It’s about Jesse. Or rather, about what Jesse said. Or asked. 

It’s not that Fergus would not allow Andy to go to a concert on a Saturday night – but that Andy is scared to admit it - to himself even – that he’d rather spend it at home with Fergus than go see a band that plays live one day a year. That he’s obsessed with him that much. That he’s in love with him that much. That the feeling is so strong that there are no words to describe it. That he does not expect anyone to ever understand it. That he can think of no reason to justify it and that he feels that none is necessary. 

And about that leash… Well, damned right, Fergus’ got him! He’s got him on a leash and he’s got him good. In fact it’s more than a leash, in fact, Andy would describe it more like a rope of titanium fibres, something as durable and unbreakable as can be. A rope that ties them. That links them. That tethers them. A bond that connects them and holds them as one. 

And in fact, Andy thinks dazedly as Fergus gets up off the couch and pulls him along, barely breaking the kiss, being on a leash is kind of amazing. It can be loads of fun. Really. 

If you know what I mean.


End file.
